First Time's a Charm
by That Fantasy Junkie 96
Summary: Of all their years as Darry's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis can't recall one major disciplinary problem. That is, of course, not counting the time he hit one of Sodapop's teachers. One-shot, pre-book


**AN: _The Outsiders_ has been a very important book for me for many years. I'm sure we all know how simply amazing it is and how these struggles resonate with young adult readers of every generation. Anyway, I figured if I can write college essays about it, then a FanFiction shouldn't be too hard, so please enjoy. Feedback is always welcome.**

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Darry Curtis finishes his school day bone-tired. His senior year is ending in a crawl, and with only a month left until graduation, every day is slow-moving torture. Somehow, senior year seems longer than all the other grades combined. What's even scarier is the thought of what he's going to do after school. Going into full-time work is always an option, but then again, so is college. Neither of his parents went to college. Sodapop doesn't seem too keen on it, and Ponyboy won't have to even think about it for years. Darry getting a higher education would be a big deal for everyone.

He heads over to the junior high school to find Soda. Ponyboy, being in elementary school, is driven home by one of their parents, but Darry and Soda are trusted and considered responsible enough to walk home together.

It's nice, getting those fifteen minutes to catch up with his brother, before they have to go home and worry about homework, even if Soda does spend most of their walk complaining about every subject that isn't auto-mechanics and gym. Darry knows that school isn't as easy for Soda as it is for himself or Ponyboy, but all of his brother's griping shows that some part of him still cares about his grades.

On the other hand, Soda being attractive does give him a distinct advantage at times, but can also be a hindrance, as if whatever his aspirations are aren't as important as how he looks. Sure, Darry and Ponyboy aren't _bad-_ looking by anyone's standards, but they get asked about what they want to do in the future, while Soda only gets asked how God saw it fit to make him so handsome.

Darry arrives at the steps of the junior high and expects to see Soda already waiting there, maybe talking to Steve, but he's not. His last teacher must be keeping him late, so Darry walks into the building.

He doesn't remember much of this class, only that it's some kind of math - Soda's worst subject by far - and that the teacher makes him feel very small. The halls are pretty much empty, except for a few stragglers, which is good because no one's there to witness him try three different hallways until he remembers which one Soda is in. He finally finds Mr. Simmons' room, but stays silently in the doorway when he hears Soda's voice, sounding much more quiet and nervous than usual.

"...Don't know. I've been trying, honestly."

"I don't believe that, Curtis," Mr. Simmons' voice answers, practically booming in comparison to Soda's. "You're unfocused, and your homework leaves much to be desired, young man. Do you not care for your studies at all?" he demands.

"That's not true," Soda insists.

"Then, why are you failing?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, think about it. Why are you failing?"

"It's hard," Soda answers weakly. Darry can already hear it in his voice. He's starting to shut down. He can't take a lecture. Even from his parents, they make him feel trapped. It's not hard to see that he's wild by nature. He can't be caged in or shut up.

Mr. Simmons, however, obviously doesn't know who he's dealing with, doesn't know _how_ to deal with him.

"I'll tell you why," the teacher says. "It's because you're not smart enough."

Wait, is he serious?

"In fact, you should just quit while you're ahead."

Jesus, what is _wrong_ with this guy?

"Hell, it's a good thing you're a good-looking kid because that's all you have to offer."

Darry's heard enough. How could a teacher say that to a student? Sure, some are better than others, but everyone can learn. He steps into the room, initially just wanting to take Soda home, but changes his mind when he sees his brother. Dejected and withdrawn, Soda's posture screams defeat, leaning against one of the desks with his head down. He looks up at Darry, grateful that he's here, but ready to cry. _Ready to cry_ because of this bastard.

"Hello, Darrel," Mr. Simmons says. Darry doesn't remember ever meeting him, and wonders how he knows his name, but that's unimportant. Mr. Simmons certainly isn't a kitten. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and just stands like he's superior to you. Soda's not easily intimidated, but being called stupid - by a teacher, no less - is about the worst thing you can do to his ego.

Darry hardly thinks about it, just walks up to Mr. Simmons and punches him. If not for his desk to stumble back on, he would've fallen on the ground from the force of it. He's just lucky that Darry didn't choose his nose or jaw.

There's an audible gasp from his brother, who stands there stunned, no doubt imagining the repercussions of what Darry just did.

"Soda, get your stuff."

He doesn't need to be told twice, snatching up his books in an instant, rushing past his teacher as he recovers from the blow. Darry ushers him in front, turning in the doorway to say something to Mr. Simmons.

"People like you shouldn't be teachers. My brother's got more worth than you'll ever know."

Darry and Soda walk together in silence, even when Mr. Simmons shouts something about telling their parents and possibly the police, until they're safely away from the school.

Soda's biting his lip, deciding how to bring up what happened. "Umm..."

"What?" Darry asks.

"Should you have done that?"

"Definitely not," he admits. "And you shouldn't, either. That's not how things are solved."

"Then, why'd you do it?" Soda asks.

"'Cause I didn't like how he talked to you. I didn't like it one bit. Geez, is he always like that?"

"He's usually not _that_ bad. Me and Mary Hill were trying to figure out what he was doing on the board, and then he got really angry and kept me after class. He was goin' on and on about a "slippery slope" and how I don't try. And that's not true. I do try, but-" he sighs. "Maybe he's right."

"He's not, Sodapop."

"I'm flunking his class and probably a lot of others, Darry. How does that not make me dumb?"

The worst part was that Soda barely defended himself. Does he really believe what Mr. Simmons said?

"Listen, Pepsi-Cola. I know that school seems important right now, and it definitely is, but there are other kinds of smart, okay? You know a lot about cars, even more than Dad."

"Yeah," Soda agrees quietly.

"And you know people."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how to talk to people. You know what they need and how to make them feel better. You're the first person to break up a fight because you can see both sides. You got empathy, kiddo. That's what Mr. Simmons will never have. People like being around you because you treat them decent. Alright?"

Soda nods, even though Darry can see that his teacher's words still sting. He wraps his arm around Soda's neck, pulling him close. "C'mon, little buddy. We gotta deal with Mom and Dad."

* * *

When they walk inside, Ponyboy's on the couch with a book. He catches a glimpse of his older brothers and his eyes widen. "You two are in so much trouble!" he whispers, careful not to alert their parents. "Mom and Dad sound really mad. What the heck did you do?"

"I'd like to know that myself," their mother says, emerging from the kitchen with their father. She crosses her arms expectantly, while Mr. Curtis shakes his head.

"Sodapop's teacher called."

Darry feels Soda move behind him slightly. "Did he?" Darry asks.

"Don't get smart with me, Darrel," their father warns. "Mr. Simmons says that you hit him. Is that true?"

"Yeah," admits.

"Ponyboy, go to your room," Mrs. Curtis says. Oh, boy. Sending Pony to his room means that they're serious.

"Darry," their father says. "You're practically a man, almost out of high school and out of our house, but while you live in this house, nothing of that sort will be tolerated, do you understand?"

"But Dad-"

"Darry, there's no excuse for it."

"I didn't like how he talked to Soda," Darry mutters.

"Is that it?" his mother asks. "Darrel, lots of people will say things that you don't like, but you can't go hitting all of them for it. What's gotten into you?"

"I gotta say, I expected more of you," Mr. Curtis continues. "Is this really the example that you want to set for your brothers? I can't recall you doing anything like this."

It's true. Even though Darry's one of the best at fighting among their friends, he rarely does, only when defending one of his brothers or only when severely provoked. He's definitely known for using his words more than his fists, even if his fists can sometimes say what words will never be able to.

"Do you have anything to say, Pepsi-Cola?"

"He didn't do anything," Darry jumps in. "I take responsibility."

"Darry," Soda protests.

"Go to your rooms, both of you," Mrs. Curtis says. "We'll talk punishment later."

As they go down the hallway, Darry winks at his brother.

The message is simple: _I'd do it again._

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 **Yay? Nay?**

 **That Fantasy Junkie 96**


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